Questions.
Always the questions and it always seems that they will never end.
But then I remind myself that this is what therapy is all about. You have to “do the work” and that means answering questions: lots of them.
Time was, I often wondered if it was worth it, really worth all of the time, energy and attempt at self-revelation, and that, in front of a stranger one barely knows.
But later, as I dialed it back an emotional notch, and considered how the pluses far outweighed the minuses, I concluded that it was more than worth it after all.
I suppose my urge to kill began when I was just a little boy, swatting flies, not killing them outright, but wounding them just enough to keep them from becoming airborne. Then, with the help of my trusty magnifying glass capturing and condensing
